


The Art of Being Compromised

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Era, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, First Time, Hotel Sex, M/M, Nate POV, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate straightened, intensely aware that he was wet and wearing nothing but a towel. "What the fuck, Brad?"</p>
<p>Brad raised a cutting eyebrow. "Your hotel room, the wee hours of the morning…I was thinking Parcheesi."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Being Compromised

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction, ergo it never happened.
> 
> I've always found it intriguing that Nate spent his first night back in the US in a hotel room. So I'm playing with it. Huge thanks to [](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**romanticalgirl**](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/) for the wonderful beta! Also posted on [LJ](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/758701.html).

It was too fucking quiet. 

After the tearful reunion with his parents and sisters, they'd all gone back to the hotel to get some much-needed sleep. And while midnight reunions were great, all Nate had been _dreaming_ of was a shower and a clean bed...when he slept long enough to dream, of course. The hotel, basic as it was, seemed like something out of a fantasy. 

Nate had dropped his pack in the corner of his room and promptly forgotten it, the shower all he could think of. A shower and sleep. 

He'd had the shower, that marvel of modern plumbing and civility that was as glorious as he remembered. 

Sleep? Sleep was a fucking problem.

Nate passed out just fine, but he couldn't stay there, waking up after forty minutes, sure he needed to take watch. Only after that panicked second of _fuck, can't let my men down_ did he remember there was no watch, his part in the war was done, and sleep deprivation was _actually torture_. 

If only his mutinous brain would get on board. 

Nate's second shower was shorter than the first...by a little. Nate stared at the water as it swirled around his shriveled toes, just blank. Eventually he got out, slinging a towel around his waist and then staring at the unkempt, but clean bed. It was exactly what he wanted, so why couldn't he just enjoy it?

He startled at the light knock at his door, then immediately chastised himself. It was a knock, not a weapon firing, and a soft knock at that. Jumping at every fucking thing was beneath him; his fellow recon Marines would be ashamed, especially when it was probably just Vicky wanting to check on him. 

It wasn't Vicky. 

All Nate could do was stare at Brad, looming against the doorjamb. He'd showered and changed into a garishly bright t-shirt and board shorts. The flipflops were a given. He looked like every other useless southern California asshole until you saw the deadly calm in his eyes, the sense of controlled stillness that only came from a million dollars of government training and the knowledge that you were a weapon to be deployed at will. 

Nate _reacted_ , grabbing Brad's shirt and hauling him inside. He glanced either direction down the hall, checking for onlookers—

Then he realized what he'd done. And how it might be received. By _Brad_ , who was _in his hotel room_ at an hour that was downright incriminating. Cursing himself for not thinking it through, Nate ducked back into his room and closed the door quietly. All he could do was brazen his way through this. It was the only play. 

He rounded on Brad with as much disapproving LT as he could muster. "What the hell are you doing? You could've been spotted." 

Brad's eyes took a beat before lifting to meet his. Nate flushed at the implication, of just _where_ Brad had been looking. It put too many thoughts in his head, brought him right back to those dangerous moments in Iraq where he'd gotten too close to the brink. Where it had taken everything in him not to reach out and touch, even if just to brush the sand from Brad's eyelashes. Granted, there was no _just_ to any of it, past inappropriate and into conduct unbecoming.

But he'd resisted, found more self-control than he'd thought possible, even as every instinct cried out for him to take some comfort, freely offered. So of course Brad would show up _here_ , to put all Nate's restraint to shame. Godammit. 

Anger was good. Nate clung to that. 

Brad just smirked like he was trying not to, but couldn't help himself and didn't mind Nate seeing it. "No one saw me." It was all arrogant surety, perfectly Brad, like he defined reality and his will would be done. 

Nate shouldn't find that hot. Maybe if he kept repeating that to himself, his body would get in line. 

Yeah, that'd happen. 

Nate shook himself out of it, realizing that worrying about appearances before anything else probably betrayed something he shouldn't. It assumed a lack of propriety when Brad could have been doing something completely innocent. 

Brad's reason for being here was by no means innocent. And they both fucking knew it. 

_Fuck_. He needed sleep for this. 

Nate straightened, intensely aware that he was wet and wearing nothing but a towel. "What the fuck, Brad?"

Brad raised a cutting eyebrow. "Your hotel room, the wee hours of the morning...I was thinking Parcheesi."

That landed heavy in Nate's gut; it was mockery, sure, but it was also an admission, finally spoken, no longer Brad just ravishing Nate with his eyes under cover of inky Iraqi nights. And that made it _dangerous_. 

"Brad," Nate said, trying to find his 'take no shit' voice, but uncomfortably aware of Brad alone in his room, looking at him with intent. 

" _Nate_ ," he shot back like he was throwing a gauntlet between them, the first time he'd ever used his platoon commander's given name. Brad watched him closely, like he knew it'd send a little thrill down Nate's spine and wanted the confirmation. Fucking Brad always fucking pushing. 

Nate made sure to keep his expression neutral...or as neutral as it could be, given this all-out assault on his control. "You should leave," he said, adding a frosty bite to the words. 

"Should I?" Brad asked, mild, as he advanced on Nate.

Nate held up a quelling hand as he searched for something, some excuse. Brad shredding barriers like so much tissue paper left him at a loss. If he was willing to so obviously flout the regs, what could Nate possibly use to put him off? 

His exhausted mind failed him, so he went with the lame: "You should be at home, sleeping. Or with your parents."

Nate had seen him at that midnight reunion, standing tall and alone, like a badge of honor. He'd moved through the emotional crowd, ducked under the American flags, clapped Poke on the back as he kissed Gabi, but never stopped, like no one was there waiting and it didn't bother him. 

It had bothered _Nate_. He'd wanted to call out to Brad, introduce him to his family, try to get across some tiny part of how important Brad was—

Brad had met his eyes as Nate thought it, taking in Nate's mother crying into his shoulder, his lips curling in a half smile. Vicky leaned in to hug Nate then, stealing his attention, and by the time he'd looked up, Brad was gone. 

And now he was _here_. Looking at Nate like _that_ , without the safety of the platoon to make it okay. Not that it ever was. 

Brad smirked at Nate. "I'm having dinner with my parents this evening, but thanks for the concern. Besides, I can't leave; you asked why I'm here."

"To fuck your platoon commander," Nate said flatly, answering for him. 

Brad blinked, like he hadn't expected Nate to be quite that upfront about it. 

"That's why you're here," Nate continued, finding the anger again. "Iraq fucked us all three ways from Sunday, might as well go the full distance with some good ol' fraternization, too, right?"

"I'm not here to compromise you," Brad said with a touch of bewilderment, like he'd meant this to be light and had miscalculated. And he had, in a way. He'd come here expecting what? Nate to swoon and fall into his arms? 

He should fucking well know better. 

"And yet that's all you can do." Nate was suddenly tired again, more so than he was before. He studiously ignored the little part of his brain whispering that he was making excuses, that he didn't want to face what Brad was offering. 

It was all moot, anyway. 

"Just go, Brad. We'll forget it."

Brad blinked, like this conversation had gotten away from him and they'd ended up somewhere even the Iceman couldn't predict. 

Then his eyes narrowed. "Is that your strategy? Forget this, forget all of us, and maybe it'll go away? Iraq just a thing you did that time."

"You're conflating two subjects. You know I'm not going to compartmentalize away my men. That's a shitty thing to say, after everything," Nate said, quietly on the last.

Brad didn't react to the rebuke, he just looked hard at Nate, expectant. When he got no response, Brad made a go-ahead gesture. "And the other subject. Please, I'm riveted."

Jesus, Brad really wasn't letting this go. During the rare times Nate had let himself think about it, usually when he was too bone-tired to police himself, he hadn't thought of this part. His fantasies—which is what they were, he could admit that—had been about fucking, sure, but also the in-between moments: brushing his fingers over a shoulder as he walked by Brad reading a book, bickering with Brad about how to grill the perfect steak, just sitting on the beach together, silent, as the waves rolled in and lapped at their toes. 

He'd kind of skipped over the "talking about it" part. It made sense in hindsight. They were fantasies; by definition they'd skip the tough parts, the reality of it all.

Nate shook his head, betraying his exhaustion, he knew: "It's more complicated than you're making it."

Brad studied him for a moment, clearly turning that over in his mind. Hope flared in Nate; maybe he'd gotten to Brad, maybe he saw the wisdom of Nate's advice—

"I'm not hearing a 'No' in any of this."

And just like that, hope died. Never let it be said that Brad wasn't a stubborn motherfucker. 

So Nate said the only thing he could: "No, Brad."

"If you meant it you would have started there."

A catch-22. A neat trick, really, crafting a scenario in which Nate could not win. But even worse than that...Brad was right. _Of course_ Brad was right. He always did see too much. 

There was no way to respond to that with any amount of honesty, and Brad would see right through a lie, so even as Nate started to speak, he knew it was a lost cause: "I don't know what to tell you. I don't know how to convince—"

Brad was suddenly _right there_ , moving into Nate's space, further still, kissing Nate with no hesitation, like Nate hadn't spent the last five minutes trying to get him to leave. 

Nate breathed in, not exactly surprised, but still bowled over by the sheer _reality_ of it—Brad solid and hot against him, smelling like soap and aftershave as he sucked on Nate's bottom lip, a deliberate tease, setting Nate's body alight. Nate didn't even recognize the sound he made, something soft, almost wounded. Wanting. 

It gave away everything he was feeling, it sacrificed any hope he had of keeping Brad at a distance, and even with all that, a part of Nate pulsed at it, the slick slide of their mouths singing through him. He sank into the kiss, sucking on Brad's tongue, hands gripping Brad's shirt again, feeling the siren call of hot skin underneath. If Nate was gonna damn himself, he'd do it right. 

Brad's hands landed on Nate's hips, his fingertips brushing the bare skin at his waist, and only then did Nate pull his mouth away on a rush of breath. 

Brad didn't try to pull him back, didn't hold him at all, his hands gone soft and relaxed by his sides. His eyes were enough of an invitation, saying he knew how much Nate wanted and that Brad was right there with him. 

Some days, Nate really hated that he could read Brad so well. 

He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. "I wish you wouldn't."

Brad's eyes were pinned to Nate's mouth. He licked his lips. "Why?"

Nate let his exasperation leak onto his face. It was enough to shake Brad out of his intense focus.

"Your lack of faith in me is extremely trying."

"The faith I have in you terrifies me," Nate said, flat. It was enough of an admission to stop Brad; he just stared at Nate as he continued: "No one else inspires the kind of gut-deep certainty that you do. All instinct. But none of that is the problem."

Brad took a moment with that, measuring his words in a way that Nate found gratifying. At least he wasn't the only one trying to be careful here. "The officer-enlisted divide is important, meaningful, and _fails to fucking apply_ ," Brad finally said, frustrated vehemence coloring his tone. "Nothing could call into question my respect for you. And we both know you won't be ordering me into danger now. You've already resigned your commission in your head. All that's left is the paperwork." The surprise of that quickened Nate's pulse. He hadn't thought he'd been quite so obvious, hoped none of the others had picked up on it...but it was Brad. Sometimes Nate felt like Brad had hacked his brain, could access any part of him he liked. Sometimes Nate fucking resented that. 

Brad clocked his reaction, face softening a little, knowing what a huge, emotional decision it was. What the Corps meant to men like them. After a careful pause, he continued: "There's nothing keeping us from...this." 

"Except the duties by which we're bound."

And then all his compassion was gone, Brad making a frustrated sound and leaning in again, the kiss breathtaking in its thoroughness. Nate could taste his stubbornness, the insistence, sending a clear message: _the Corps doesn't get to control this_. 

And dammit, Nate wasn't strong enough to push him away again. Not when every nerve tingled, every inch of him wanting more. Not when he was swaying on his feet, the combination of exhaustion and sheer want making him loopy. 

...there was something about that...

Nate swam through the lust, forcing his fogged thoughts to coalesce into usefulness. 

Brad had come to Nate's hotel _immediately_. Like he didn't want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary. The only thing he'd done first was shower and change. He all but jumped at the chance to jump Nate. 

But, wait, that was wrong. Brad wasn't impulsive. Grunts spoke of Brad's control—of himself, of others, of the goddamn elements—in the glowing, hushed tones reserved for Marine Corps greats. And Brad knew it full-well. He embraced it. 

And while he was certainly keen to take risks...being cavalier about this risk? No fucking way. 

In fact, it had to be the exact opposite. 

Nate pulled away from Brad again, realization giving him the strength to break the connection. "You planned this," he breathed against Brad's kiss-swollen mouth. 

Brad regarded him steadily, eyes dark with heat but giving nothing away. They'd both had the same interrogation training, after all.

Nate continued, hearing the desire in his voice, but forging ahead: "We're all dead on our feet, but you chose now to come here. You knew I'd be too tired to police myself." He'd probably counted on it. Nate could just see it, Brad treating this like an op, strategizing, carefully selecting his go-time for conditions most favorable to his success. 

Irritation flashed through Nate; he wasn't a fucking _mission_. He didn't need his SALUTE and DRAW-D neatly outlined in paragraph format, Brad identifying the enemy forces before making contact. 

As quickly as it flared, Nate quashed the feeling. Because Brad _wanted_ this. He wanted it enough to plan, to give himself the best chance of getting it. And he'd wanted it for some time. Brad wasn't hiding anything at all; the old longing was plain in his eyes. This wasn't casual, it wasn't new, and those facts totally upended everything Nate had presumed about their interactions. 

All those moments in theater, where Nate had thought "Maybe..." and then quickly shaken it off as a projection of his own desires? Those weren't just in his head. Hell, he'd felt this zing of connection as far back as Pendleton, Mike introducing them on a lonely stretch of beach as Brad returned from a training mission, sandy and wet, nodding politely and then cracking a filthy joke, like Nate's presence didn't faze him at all. To think this spark had been there from the start, on _both_ sides...it was too big a sea change to wrap his mind around. 

It also lit a fragile warmth in Nate, one that had nothing to do with the shivery feeling of Brad's fingertips tracing small circles over his skin. 

"Now, sir, you make it sound like I'm taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state." It was dry like only Brad could do, but underneath Brad's cool exterior Nate could see the sheer _want_ consuming him.

Instead of answering, Nate hauled him back in, dismissing all concerns of rank and propriety. If Brad Colbert was willing to admit to this, there was no world in which Nate would turn him down. 

A small part of Nate's brain pointed out that giving in to his own desires wasn't even close to a hardship, but Nate chose to ignore that, instead focusing on the breathless heat building as they each tried to devour each other, hands gripping wherever they could find.

Nate lost his towel at some point, the reality of that utterly superfluous to the necessity of shoving Brad's clothes off, the two of them falling to the bed in a twist of heated limbs.

" _Thank you_ for wearing easy clothes," he said breathlessly into Brad's mouth as Brad stretched out on top of him, naked skin to naked skin, both of them moaning at the contact. Nate's brain fritzed at the feeling, so many nerve endings firing at once, too much stimuli for his senses to catalogue. 

"Hoped," Brad answered in between short, biting kisses that made up for intensity what they lacked in length. 

Even that, Brad had planned, picking out clothes with care, the easier to shuck if all went well. The thought made something tingle inside while Brad seemed determined to stoke the rest of him, thrusting their hips together in mindless rutting that would get Nate off sooner than he'd like, he could already tell. The combination of deployment celibacy and Brad's naked skin, already glinting with sweat, was quite enough to have him riding the edge. 

Nate pulled back on a gasp, holding Brad off when he would have followed Nate's mouth. His eyes were hazy and dilated, mouth bruised red, skin glowing even in the cheap hotel lights. Nate had daydreamed this, a picture of debauchery. He never thought he'd get it.

Brad grunted, questioning, and Nate sucked in a breath. That turned out to be a mistake, the scent of Brad and sex swamping his brain, making him wonder why they weren't getting off right now. 

Oh, right. 

"Want you," Nate murmured, thrusting his hips up, cock burning into the groove of Brad's hip. 

"I'm right here," he said obviously, grinding against Nate, igniting sparks up and down his spine. 

"No, not like this," Nate gasped, grabbing Brad's hips to hold him still. 

Brad froze at that, worry settling into the lines around his eyes. That had Nate instantly backpedaling, "Not what I meant," whispered into Brad's mouth as he kissed him again, his exhausted brain failing him utterly. But then Brad sucked on his tongue and Nate realized he had excellent reasons to be struck stupid and right, why weren't they fucking?

"I want you to fuck me," he said, crisp, to avoid any further miscommunication. 

Brad blinked, once, slowly, like he didn't believe this was real. He opened that swollen mouth, then shut it, and stared at him hard. Then he tried again, murmuring, "Anything." Offering like a prayer, like a goddamn vow, and it was enough to have Nate dragging him down again, biting kisses against his mouth as he ran his hands up and down Brad's back, feeling the muscles tense and shudder at his touch. 

"I have...stuff," Brad confessed, almost looking sheepish about that, which Nate found endlessly endearing. He kissed the tip of Brad's nose, which got him an affronted look— _I'm not a woman—_ before he soothed it with another scorching claiming of Brad's mouth. At the end, Brad pulled back, a little dazed, like he'd forgotten what he was doing. 

"Stuff," Nate prompted. Brad jerked and nodded, finally scooting back to lean down over the bed, reaching for his discarded board shorts and their single, useful pocket. Nate studied him, skin flushed everywhere, color high in his cheeks in helpless arousal. The tattoo flexed with his movements, making Nate's hands itch. He wanted to press him face-first into the bed, trace that tattoo with his tongue, see if he could make Brad _writhe_. 

Brad came back up with a condom and small bottle of lube. Something of Nate's thoughts must have shown on his face because Brad's eyes went even darker.

Nate simply grinned, a little wolfish, and spread his legs further. It was enough to make Brad's breath catch, to make him look away and swallow thickly, a desperate grasp at keeping himself under control. 

But where was the fun in that?

"By all means, take your time," he said, dry, forcing Brad to look back at him, to crawl between his thighs, expression open like Nate had never seen. Brad's look held something wondrous, like he hadn't dared to hope and didn't know how to accept that hope being realized. Nate reached up and ran his fingers across Brad's face, wanting to feel that. 

Brad closed his eyes as he did, like it hurt him a little, and Nate instinctively hated that, never wanted to be the cause of Brad's pain, not ever again. 

"C'mere," he whispered, hand wrapping behind Brad's neck, tugging him back into a searing, heady kiss, slotting them right back into the crazy heat of moments ago. 

Brad went with it, pressing Nate down into the bed, but seemingly content to lavish Nate's mouth with probing kisses and rub their bodies together, like he couldn't get enough of even that. Any other time Nate would be all for it, but the desperation was already making him shake and he refused to embarrass himself by coming like a twelve-year-old touching himself for the first time. 

Nate thrust up, making an impatient noise. Brad pulled back, uncertainty tinging his expression. "You sure?"

Nate stared him point blank in the eyes and said: "I want to feel this tomorrow."

Brad stared, like lust had robbed him of higher brain function for an uncomprehending second. Then he snapped out of it and nodded. He leaned back in to bite at Nate's mouth, hands finally moving where Nate wanted them, spreading his legs further, a brief tease at his asshole before disappearing again. Nate didn't bother smothering his disappointed grunt at that. 

Hands shaking, Brad got the lube open and finally pressed a cool-slicked finger _in_. Nate couldn't help the hiss that escaped him, not pained, but...adjusting. 

Brad stopped immediately, shifting back to get a look at Nate's face. 

"Been a long time," Nate explained, pressing back against Brad's finger to let him know he was okay, he could keep going. 

A tangle of emotions flickered through Brad's eyes—understanding, determination, maybe a hint of jealousy, all overlaid with a desire so encompassing Nate didn't even know how to process it. 

Brad kissed him again, downright loving about it—and that hit Nate harder than anything else—finger moving steadily into Nate, knowing right where to press, just what to do to make his back arch, unable to stop his moans. There was a story there, Nate was sure, but he couldn't focus on that now, not with Brad doing his damnedest to make him lose control. Brad kept up his assault, adding fingers, teasing Nate's prostate, until Nate's fingers felt permanently fused into Brad's back, his muscles shaking in a way he'd find humiliating any other time. 

"Now, now, now," he moaned into Brad's mouth, thighs burning from the stretch.

Brad trembled, his body betraying something—nerves? Pent-up emotion?—but given his desperation, Nate couldn't get a read on it. Brad finally getting a condom on tossed that thought out the window, anyway, his cock shiny and slick and pressing against Nate's entrance. Brad paused then, clearly a deliberate move to get Nate to open his eyes.

He did, finding Brad already watching him, waiting for him. Nate sucked in a breath, holding that look, helpless desire spiraling through him. 

The corner of Brad's mouth lifted—that smile Nate knew so well, loved so completely—and finally he pushed himself in, slowly enough that it had to be killing him. 

It was _definitely_ killing Nate, the sense of fullness both familiar and alien, the fact of Brad above him, inexorably pressing his cock inside, enough to make Nate stop breathing. Sensation swamped him, the burn morphing into the best kind of pleasure, even better for how Brad never looked away, watched Nate's face like it was a direct order. 

Nate let out a choked gasp when Brad finally seated himself, reminding himself that his lungs did work, even as Brad pulled out a little and thrust back in, stealing his breath again. 

Brad established a rhythm, glancing along Nate's prostate, driving into him with a vicious pleasure that had Nate moaning on every stroke, wanton, past caring. 

Brad blanketed him with his body, taking Nate's mouth again as he fucked him with brutal efficiency, everything close and intimate, never letting Nate forget this was Brad, this was _them_ , not some melding of anonymous bodies. And that knowledge made it hit harder, fucking someone you loved indefinably better than any casual lay ever could be. 

Nate was showing too much, he knew, the combination of Brad fucking him like a lover and his utter exhaustion effectively laying him bare. He was betraying all the rage and impotence, and underneath it the loneliness and desperate desire to keep Brad close. 

Nate watched as Brad truly registered it, a flash of enlightenment skating across his expression before it was shuttered away. Brad slowed down then, fucking Nate with devastating thoroughness, only grazing his prostate every third stroke. His hands found Nate's, beside Nate's head, their fingers twining together as Brad leaned down. "I know," he whispered against Nate's mouth before melting into another scorching kiss—

And like that, Nate was coming, his cock spilling untouched between them, every inch of him strung tight, lit like a livewire—

"Fuck," Brad moaned against his mouth, and then he was coming, too, little jerks of his hips that Nate felt everywhere. All Nate could do was stare and watch it happen, transfixed as Brad's face was suffused in pleasure, almost rapturous, nothing he'd ever seen but knew he could never forget. 

After, Brad met his eyes again, stunned air infusing every panting breath he took, sweat slipping down the sides of his face. 

Nate swallowed thickly, his throat feeling raw. It made him flush, imagining what he'd probably sounded like. He had absolutely no memory of it...but he could guess. Brad smiled a little at that.

Nate smiled back, shifting, his body muzzily coming back into focus, the two of them as wrapped up in each other as Nate had ever been with anyone, still clutching each other's hands. 

Brad leaned down and caught Nate's mouth again, almost hesitant, like he didn't know if he'd be welcome. 

Nate opened himself up to it with a soft noise and Brad responded with his own, a wordless expression of want mixed with satisfaction that shivered up Nate's spine. 

Brad broke the kiss and pulled away, easing out of Nate's body and taking care of the condom. He snagged Nate's towel from the floor and wiped the come off Nate's chest and belly. Then he collapsed back, his breathing even, body touching all along Nate's side, not moving away. 

Sleepy lassitude swamped Nate, the feeling that maybe now he could sleep, Brad by his side taking watch. But then Brad breathed in, purposeful, and Nate snapped to wakefulness, body throbbing, attuned to Brad now. Hell, always had been. 

It took him a few breaths, but Brad finally admitted: "I didn't think you'd let me in." 

Nate let that settle into the silence. "Stuff," he reminded, calling bullshit, but gently. 

Brad didn't retreat to the lightness of that, though. "A contingency. I didn't actually believe it."

Nate looked over at Brad in profile, staring at the ceiling. "I'm shit at keeping you away."

The honesty of it turned Brad's head.

"At not giving you what you want. At not wanting you," Nate continued, on a roll now. He'd already fucked himself, might as well offer the truth. Better, probably, to say it out loud. He'd never want Brad to question his value. There'd been too much of that already, he knew. 

"You never would have said anything," Brad realized, like it stung a little, that Nate would keep it from him. 

Nate nodded, regretful at the thought, even though he knew it was the absolute truth. "I would never do anything to compromise you," he said, echoing Brad's earlier words. 

Brad studied him for a moment, understanding slipping across his expression like a wave crashing on the beach, then receding, leaving the sand smooth and perfect in its wake. 

Brad leaned toward Nate, meeting his lips, soft this time, like he was afraid he might break something. "Then it's a good thing I can do that all on my own."

Nate smiled and brushed his fingers across Brad's cheek. It was sentimental, he knew, but he just might be forgiven this once. 

Brad caught his hand and kissed it, then settled down by his side. "Go to sleep, Nate. I'll be here."

With the sound of deep, even breaths beside him, Nate finally did. 

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
